In The Etcetera
by Mistykins06
Summary: The clock ticked down. Sherlock Holmes had begged but when the timer hit zero, Molly Hooper was dead.


"Molly."

Sherlock watched the monitor in front of him, doing his best to make the woman whose image he stared at speak. To say the three word release code.

 _Now. Say it_ **_now_**! He willed.

What was stopping her? Could she not hear the urgency in his voice? He'd done what she asked, repeated the phrase back to her as she'd demanded he do, only realizing once the words had been said that he had meant them.

So much so that he'd repeated them to be sure, to have said it on his own terms. Because he loved her. It was a simple, complex but completely honest truth.

Which left them here with seconds ticking by, swift and crushing. A kick in the gut with each agonizing second that passed.

12...

11...

10...

And she simply stood, eyes closed and frozen. Enduring agonizing pain of her own, so deep it choked her, stole her breath but he needed her to speak. He couldn't lose her, not now, not when he needed her to say the words, because once more Molly Hooper was the one who mattered most, she wouldn't, or couldn't say them.

"Molly, Please!" He pleaded. _Say it!_

Eurus's game had given the limitation of not letting Molly know that she was in danger, but why could the damnable woman not hear his desperation?! Why could she not just say it if it was the truth?! She had already confessed that the words were true so why could she not say them?!

The countdown ticked 5... 4... 3... 2

"I-" Molly breathed out...

Zero

The screen before him flashed to static for what seemed like the longest moment before the feed returned to Eurus.

"Oh Sherlock, you funny, funny man. Look at all of those emotions you that are experiencing right now! There are too many to count." Eurus tutted gleefully, "You failed her, or would you rather say that she failed you? Either way you've lost again Sherlock. You failed to make her say I love you. And there were consequences."

No words came to him. Nothing. No thoughts. No sound. Just... nothing.

Nothing.

Molly Hooper was gone. He'd failed and it had cost her her life. In utter sorrow, he bent his face to his hands. Trying desperately to fight off the tsunami of emotions he felt. Grief, stronger than even when Mary had died, anger towards himself and his sister for how cruel she had been and for her death. The sixth death on his hands that day, with hundreds if not thousands more potentially still to come if that girl didn't land her plane in the water. What should the loss of Molly matter in comparison to the loss of thousands?

But it did. She did. She still managed to matter the most even when she'd never known it.

"Look what you've done! Sherlock. Look what you did, not just to her. Oh no! But to yourself! You know, for a moment there I almost believed you loved her? Do you think she believed it too? Not that it mattered in the end," Eurus hummed, "Oh yes, I definitely think you've loved her for a very long time. Stupid of you really to have never done anything before now about that. But what's done is done."

"Yes, all those wasted days..."' she paused, "Now deep breath, Sherlock. Get yourself together. The next one isn't quite so easy and I need you in top shape." The screen went blank and quiet filled the vacant blank room.

Behind him Mycroft and John stood silent, wary and watchful, waiting for Sherlock to give an indication that he was ready to move on. They gave him a few moments to prepare himself for whatever was to come next. Then the two older men eyed one another silently, moving towards the newly opened door to face whatever would come next in this hellish maze Eurus created, anticipating that Sherlock was following them directly.

Both walked into the hexagonal room, bare but for a screen. Realizing that Sherlock hadn't followed turned to look back, they saw that Sherlock had instead returned to the engraved lid, lifting it gently to place it on top of the base coffin softly, reverently,before brushing his hands over the words, looking down at the coffin custom chosen by his sister to fit the woman he had failed to protect. The woman who he had realized too late that he loved.

Those three words stood out on the gleaming plaque mocking him. An eternal memorial now to all the many ways he failed her.

Words he had failed to make her say.

Words he never got to hear.

Words he never knew that he'd needed to hear her say to him.

Typically she'd have done anything for him. All he would have to do was ask. She herself had told him that. So why could she have not just said what he absolutely needed her to? Why did this have to be the one time she refused him? And why did she have to do so now when it was her life was on the line?

"Sherlock," Mycroft spoke softly, "however hard that was-"

His eyes clamped shut and he pushed off the coffin.

"No." the emotional tidal wave shifted, redrawing away the shock and the hurt, sadness, grief and loss and in their stead revealing a blinding rage. Standing straight he unbuttoned his suit jacket and let out a purposeful ' **no** '.

The first fist crashed through the coffin, sending the brass flying in all directions. Immediately his second smashed and tore, destroying the box, shredding its lining as if to forbid her body from having such an unworthy resting place. Over and over he hit the inferior wood, giving it all his might.

He could have, _should_ have saved her; but he hadn't. He'd failed her spectacularly when it had mattered the most. The anguished scream he as he gave the box a final blow resounded throughout the cement room, tearing at other two men who didn't know what to do with the emotionally enraged Sherlock Holmes.

Finally, after he'd destroyed that box, Sherlock collapsed on the floor. He sat, allowing a familiar numbing calm to overtake him. He would see that Molly was cared for better than that horrible simple coffin. He'd do better. While he sat there working to slow his aching, pounding, chest the other two men had silently agreed for John to try to get him ready for what was to come.

His best friend stepped forward, "Look, I know this is torture..."

"It's not torture. It's vivisection," Sherlock droned wearily."We're experiencing science from the perspective of lab rats."

And it is not going to end well, he thought to himself. A hand shot out, the hand of the man who knew all too well the loss he was feeling. Although John's loss had been far greater, still he knew.

"Soldiers?" Sherlock challenged.

"Soldiers." John agreed, clapping him on the back.

The battle had been lost, the cost infinitely dear... but there was still a plane flying somewhere that needed to come down as safely as possible and he'd be damned if he wasn't going to do everything he could to stop 's what Molly would have wanted, he knew.

Grabbing the gun they proceeded on. Eurus still had more games to play and more lives needed to be saved.

"Hey Sis, this room's empty..."

It was early morning when Eurus was at last contained and being escorted by a team of heavily armed guards back to Sherrinford, leaving a wet John Watson and an exhausted Sherlock Holmes to begin to make their way from Musgrave Hall back to London. Back to Rosie and Mrs. Hudson. The only two people left in London that Sherlock still cared about.

Lestrade had been called in to come give his first hand experience (discretion) with the locals and was now going to go down to check in with Mycroft and receive further instructions on what would come next.

"Thank you for coming. I know it's not an easy day and I imagine you've been having a tough time with the loss of Molly. But thanks for coming." John was speaking lowly to the detective inspector.

"It's been a day all right, can't deny that. But what's this about Molly?"

"Oh, God," John sucked in a breath as he relived the loss of another dear friend, he then straightened up and used some of his best bedside manner, "Christ, Greg. You haven't heard?"

"Heard what?" The older man asked, apprehensively eyeing the hand on his shoulder then looking back to John's face.

"It was one of the tests. Sherlock was asked to make her say... to say something that wasn't easy. She gave him a deadline and we didn't make it in time and Molly... Molly's flat exploded with her inside it." Explained John.

"Christ! When was _this_?!" Greg shouted, "I just left her not too long ago at Bart's. She was a bit sulky, obviously under the weather and not her normal self but she's not bloody dead!"

Out of nowhere a shadow fell over them as Sherlock darted over and glared at the detective. "She's alive? Molly Hooper is alive? You are certain?"

"Yeah, she's alive. She was at work at eight this evening. She was working two through eleven," Lestrade said, trying to work out what exactly was going on.

"Greg," Sherlock clutched him to his side, squeezing tightly, "Thank you, Greg Thank you!"

He spun off before turning back around with in two steps. "I- I need a car. I have to go. I have to go **NOW**!"

He ran yelling orders to the first officer, a bright blonde young woman who looked completely terrified by the madman coming toward her jumping away from her car as he dove into the driver's seat, throwing it into gear before peeling off.

"What's all that about?" Greg asked John.

"Sherlock told Molly Hooper he loved her. And she didn't express the regard back." John was smiling, a huge bright, happy smile. _Molly was alive!_ He laughed.

"He did what?!" roared an astounded Lestrade.

"Exactly." John nodded. "It was... it was awful in there but being forced to say that, and then losing Molly or… God, just thinking he did. I've never, never seen him that distraught. Not even when he nearly killed Mycroft.-"

" _What_?"

"You can't understand, Greg. It was a nightmare in there. I can't even fully describe it. Nearly made war seem sane and civilized, the things she made us see and do. All to hurt Sherlock specifically... it's a lot that he's gone through. A lot that he's learned about his past, himself even. And maybe, just maybe, after all of it he may just be a real boy after all, Greg."

"This is one hell of a story, isn't it?"

"Oh yes." John wiped his face, exhaustion pulling hard on him. "One never to see the light of day. We've had too many of those lately. Any chance I can get my own ride home now?"

The engine hadn't even finished fully shutting off before Sherlock was out of the car and bounding to the door of Molly's flat. It was just dawn but still he pounded on the door, desperately needing to see her; to verify that she was alive. But it was more than that; he needed to be near her. Needed to see her eyes looking at him with forgiveness and understanding. He craved her acceptance, for her to welcome him in as she'd done whenever he'd desperately needed her. Thus he continued pounding out a hard cadence on her door because as expeditious as breaking in would be, it wasn't going to get him any points in her favor.

And he absolutely needed any favor he could get from Molly Hooper right now.

The fact that his banging was occurring during a time when the woman whose attention and good graces he needed to be in was still deep asleep only occurred to him after she'd opened the door and looked up at him through bleary sleep-filled eyes.

"What are you doing here, Sherlock?" Her voice was even deeper than it had been the day prior and her nose was red. The pajamas she wore looked more likely to fit someone with his own frame rather than her own petite body, but the light blue flannel was thick and warm. Across her face hair criss-crossed from where it had escaped her ponytail and brushed the pillow marks across her face. Realistically, she was not at her finest by far, but to him, oh to him she was a vision of everything he wanted most in the world.

She was perfect. Stunning even.

And she was alive.

"I..." was the only thing he could get out of his suddenly strangled throat. When had his heart jumped up into it?

"I need tea." She sniffled. "If I'm going to be awake and dealing with..."

She oddly gestured at him standing in front of her, "with whatever this is then I'll at least need tea."

Pushing the door open for him to follow her in through she made her way back into her flat. Slowly she meandered through the cold space and into the kitchen to fill the kettle, before pulling down not one but two mugs. Sherlock was able to expel the breath he never quite realized that he'd been holding. He wasn't sure of when he'd become so melodramatic, so trite and predictable but then there wasn't much he was sure of after all that had occurred in the past few days.

If she at least was allowing him to take tea then perhaps there was a reason to hope. Entrance and tea weren't much but they made him cautiously hopeful. Only just though, for he knew as he looked at the guarded stony expression she wore while considering him that he still had a lot of explaining to do before she'd even begin to forgive him.

Under her scrutiny he felt raw, naked and exposed, painfully aware of his many, many, MANY failures towards her. Standing dirty and exhausted with his coat open, gloves off and scarf nowhere to be seen in the middle of her kitchen at 6:23 in the morning, he was a far, far cry from the pirate he'd played at just the morning before.

No longer the brave adventurer. No, now a bedraggled refugee, intruding upon her home, interrupting her rest. Selfishly seeking solace, safety and reassurance in her presence even it was inconvenient to her.

At one time he'd not have been bothered by that. More recently, the fact that he was imposing on her so grossly would have made him run. Yet now, Sherlock knew that he was going to have to tell her everything. He tried to think of how he should begin.

Molly finished prepping her cuppa, looking at him a bit curiously through narrow eyes before moving across to sit on a stool. She shifted, settled, then set her face into a calm, guarded expression. "Okay. I suppose I'm as ready as I'll ever be really," she sighed, "So, what happened?"

"I...I thought I'd never see you again," Sherlock admitted weakly.

"Sherlock, what would make you think that you'd never see me again? Another mission abroad?" Clearly she had known that something had been going on, especially since the whole world had been aware that his flat had once more exploded from yet another 'gas leak'.

"I suppose whatever it was that I should consider myself fortunate that I made the list to be notified this time." Molly bit out.

Guiltily he swallowed. She wasn't wrong to have anger issues regarding that period of their lives. He shook his head and focused. "Nothing like that this time, no, it's because I had every reason to believe that you were actually dead."

Silence filled the kitchen. Instantly awake, Molly looked at him seriously, "what do you mean you thought that I was dead?"

"I was..." he began, needing to take another breath before continuing, "I was given a series of tests, Molly. Five in all. Tests designed to torture, weaken, and ultimately destroy me. And they were highly effective in their mission to break me down piece by piece. The tests were orchestrated perfectly to do so you see. Only the greatest, the closest of enemies could do something like _that_ to me and those I love. And Eurus... she is that.

"The phone calls I made to you, those exact words... she virtually scripted just what I could and couldn't say to you. The task was simple. Make you say the release code within three minutes or... or..."

"Or what?" Molly asked softly.

"Or your whole flat was going to blow up."

Molly looked away, her thoughts turning somber at the prospect of someone threatening her life. For so long she'd avoided becoming a target. The possibility was always there, of course, always lurking... but never had it seemed likely; so real.

"The clock ticked. I did as you asked but..." Sherlock let his words trail off, lost in his memory of those horrific moments.

"We...I..." unsure of what to say she stuttered, an old habit, one that made his gut twist, caused him to cross over closer to her and to take her face in his hands. Needing to make sure she looked at him. That she saw and understood just what she'd put him through.

"I begged you, Molly. _Begged_ you over and over to just say it! And you wouldn't." He shook her a little bit, his fingers firm on her warm alive flesh watching as her big brown eyes filled and spilled tears. "When I absolutely needed you to just do something so important, you wouldn't _just do it_. It should have been, no, no it _was_ simple! Three small worlds to have you stay safe and you wouldn't say it!"

Now his own eyes filled with tears, his voice that broke. "When it mattered most, you refused and treated it like I was trying to make a joke." He gave her a hard mirthless smile.

"A joke?" Molly pulled his hands away from her face and threw them of her, "oh right! Right, right, right, right. Of course. A joke." She sneered. "Because I was supposed to know you were serious when you called me with a request for me to suddenly just pour out my barely suppressed feelings for you. But according to you, I just treated my feelings like another one of my bad jokes!

"Or is it a joke among friends, Because That's what friends do to one another. They joke around. Now I get it. We're 'Friends' who joke around for a laugh and randomly request the other make a declaration like that just out of the blue."

"Molly..."

"What was I supposed to think?" She shrieked.

"You weren't supposed to think, you were just supposed to say it!" Sherlock thundered back.

"I was just supposed to...," anger burned hot across Molly's face as she fought to keep charge of her emotions, "Oooooohhhh you!

"You what?" he taunted. _Leered_. "What? Hmm!? Going to call me a bastard again?"

He strode over and loomed over her.

"In all the years we've known one another, Molly Hooper, after everything that's happened around and between us. You've never, _never_ , called me any type of name. Did you know that? Even after everything I've done to you, you've never done anything like that. Oh you've chided me, put me in my place but never called me any type of derogatory name. Ever, Molly."

"You earned it," she growled out, "You absolutely _fucking_ earned it, Sherlock. You're cleverer than anyone. If you needed me to say- to say that then you could have found another way to make me say it, a way that wouldn't have destroyed me."

His anger made him sneer at her, "Oh right, yes it's oh so easy to think when you've been given just seconds to understand what she wanted after seeing five people die right in front of you. I should have been more clever in the 30 seconds you wasted not answering my first call and instead went to go cut lemons for tea. Vitally important stuff those lemons."

Sherlock watched the surprise register anew on her face. And although a part of him knew he shouldn't tell her about the cameras, that it would only needlessly upset her. The dark part of him delighted in her being made uncomfortable with the knowledge that she had been monitored over CCTV and he dared to press on.

"Didn't know that I could see you, eh Molly? That Eurus had hacked Mycroft's cameras that he planted here covering every angle of this kitchen and God knows where else in this flat? Mm?" Sherlock challenged, absolutely delighting in the fear and shock on her face.

"Oh yes, I stood there, 5000 kilometers away and down in the depths of hell and I got to see you standing here in this kitchen making yourself a lovely comforting cuppa. You were wearing that vile rainbow jumper of yours, standing looking almost ill over the sink.

"We... you remember John and Mycroft were there too right... we watched you ignore the first call to go to cut your precious lemon as the seconds ticked by. Behind me John stood begging you to pick up. Oh! And Mycroft, Mycroft very nearly teared up. He couldn't even function properly.

"We watched you glare at the phone, watched you keep on making your cup of tea while the clock ticked down seconds on your life. I watched you answer that second call... and I saw just how hurt you were by what I asked." Then he paused to consider that thought and looked infinitely sad.

"I've hurt you so much over the years, haven't I?"

While Molly's mind worked furiously for an answer the kettle started wailing. She clamped her mouth shut and got up and began to pour the water to make tea. Adding in honey to hers, milk to his.

"Did you finish the lemon?"

She gave him a look as Sherlock pointed to three different locations about her kitchen "They'll be gone by the end of the day by the way. I don't care what Mycroft wants. "

"And... and what about the explosives you mentioned? Is it really safe for us to even be here right now?" Her voice wobbled with fear as she queried aloud, carrying of the tea cups over to him.

"I see no indication of anything like that in place. Besides, if Eurus meant for you blow up then you'd have been dead hours ago. You've heard about my flat exploding no doubt..." he said it so nonchalantly, as if it were an everyday occurrence, but Molly knew him better than that. He was deeply saddened by the loss of his home.

"Yeah...um, what the hell what that was about?

"Eurus." He said the name plainly enough but she could sense that it wasn't an easy thing for him to do. "Broke in with a drone and a motion activated grenade. It came flying in while Mycroft was briefing John and I on her."

He paused, remembering that moment when the three of them knew they faced death, "You know, I.. I had wanted to call you then. Right before the grenade detonated. But we couldn't move so much as a muscle without setting it off... but I had been thinking about you." Sherlock admitted softly. "I wished I could tell you thank you and wish you every happiness in your future. Wanted to let John be able to say goodbye to Rosie in case he or we didn't make it out alive, which had been highly probable given the situation. Or perhaps that's what made us so determined to get the jump right. It was, I'll admit, a bit iffy, since he and I went out the windows. Mycroft somehow sprinted and made it to the stairwell before it detonated. Rather proud he made it, actually."

A small gasp made him pause and look back over to Molly. She looked at him, all huge brown eyes and color-drained skin. Mouth open wide and looking for all the world impossibly small in her oversized matching white and light blue striped pajamas. Worried. He'd made her worry again. And curious that she hadn't responded like this to her own possible demise. Concern for Rosie, he deduced, or for John and himself but so remarkably little for herself. His heart gave a funny sort of leap about that.

"Are you alright?" he asked, needing to know.

"You, John and bloody Mycroft get blown out of your second story flat and you're worried about me?!" The woman asked incredulously.

"Mrs Hudson too, although she was downstairs and only shaken up a bit. She's been recovering at the Savoy. Oh no, don't worry after her. She's not hurt except her nerves, as you can imagine, are shot. In true Martha Hudson fashion she was upset that it had happened just after she'd finished hovering and not before but she has calmed down a bit. Of course that may be due part of her being able to get a remodeled flat and having been on an increased dosage of soothers since then. All paid for on behalf of the Government. Although how the soothers play in I have no real idea. The pull that woman has is indeed remarkable and I wouldn't put anything past her."

He rambled on, not sure why he was saying so much, only that it was infinitely comforting and pleasurable that Molly smiled at that. It had relaxed them just a bit to have the focus on someone other than themselves. Sherlock dared to step even closer to Molly then, hovering now within touching distance. Each atom seemed to vibrate the nearness of her causing an ache to hum through him. Longing to hold her. Needing not to do anything to make her run away.

"You nearly died." She whispered into the charged space in between them. It was a fact that he really hadn't wanted to acknowledge and that he was only able to confirm by nodding his head once. "You know, when you called, when you begged me to say... to say the thing that you asked... and then you said it- you said it twice and the second felt so different. So real..."

Molly must have felt the same pull he did. Her hands shook as she opened and shut them repeatedly looking for something to hold onto she finally gave up and latched them to his coat. "Then the line went dead and I reasoned that you'd only have said the thing you said if there wasn't going to any further consequences for you. So I figured that was your twisted way of saying goodbye to me."

Coyly her eyes looked up at him, chagrined, and said, "I've been waiting for 'the call' to come in that you were dead ever since."

"But I'm not dead. Although I nearly was." He paused nearly as an aside. "The next test after you was even harder and I decided I was done playing her games. I choose myself and put the gun to myself, fully prepared to pull -"

Molly gasped, finally reaching out to him, holding his arms to keep him from turning away.

"Now you have to understand it was the only option.-"

"Wha-how? why?!" Her disapproval was apparent in her interruption.

"It wasn't what I wanted, but it was far better than having to choose whom to kill between Mycroft and John (that was the point of test four, by the way)." Sherlock alluded to Molly who had hissed out all the air in her lungs and clung tighter to his coat lapels. "I had the gun in hand, ready to kill my brother. The fool had known what was coming. it seemed. Did the honorable thing and was sacrificing himself. But... God I couldn't do it, Molly. So I decided to turn the gun on myself. But then clever Eurus was prepared for even that and knocked us all out with tranquilizers. While we were out she somehow transferred us to my family's old ancestral home. There she locked me alone in a pretend room gave me the puzzle of a small child alone on a plane to work through and lastly threw John down the same well she drowned my first childhood best friend in and made me race to save her before I could save him."

The story came spilling out. No more rambling to redirect now he was a man making his confession to relieve his soul of the burden that had been placed on him. Something he found unreasonably easier, given the way that Molly held him together and soothed just by being there. Her soothing motions working a miracle as she held his hand.

"Why would she have drowned your childhood friend? How long has this Eurus known you?"

"All her life, of course."

"What?!"

"Oh yes, oh. I'm sorry. I've neglected mentioning that part of it. Eurus is my... my baby sister. Not something I'm used to acknowledging yet."

Her mouth opened to respond before closing confused to think this over before finally summing it up, "so Eurus is your murdering... sister? I never knew you had a sister."

"Nor did I," he sighed

"I'm sorry, WHAT?" she squealed, "How did YOU of all people not know you had a sister?"

"I deleted her. Apparently. "

Sherlock focused inward then as a new thought entered in, "As did everyone else in my family. The only difference is that they did it on purpose while I repressed or maybe that's where the whole idea of the mind palace came into play. Deleting things... " his voice trailed off and Molly didn't know what so she stayed silent letting him have time until he felt ready to go on.

"She's... she's brilliant. A remarkable genius but dangerous. We were merely children when she purposely locked innocent little Victor in a well and drowned him. Never revealing what she'd done or known. It led to further escalation thereafter when she soon made an attempt at my life by burning down our home.

"My family was forced to send Eurus away to insure she couldn't hurt anyone else. And then she was never brought up again."

"Oh, Sherlock," Molly sighed in sympathy she slid her hands around to hug him, comforting him. "Oh Sherlock I'm... I'm so sorry."

"Sorry... what you could possibly have to be sorry for?" he asked. It was then that he realized that he was weeping and clinging to her just as much as she clung to him.

"You've been through so much in the past few days... even longer than that. Add to that all hell that we've been through in the past few months. Especially for you and- God Sherlock! That's an awful lot for a person to bear even at the best of times!"

It was. It absolutely was. He was so weary of it all and found he was exhausted, so worn down under the weight of it all. So much so that he found himself sinking down pulling the woman in his arms down with him. She went willingly and shifted under him to cradle him closer in her arms. Her hold was tight and incredibly comforting. Sherlock thought back to how he had held and soothed Eurus hours before. Of holding John as he wept over Mary. How Rosie would calm down when held just so. And then of how he had thought Molly had been killed moments after he realized he loved her.

"I do love you, do you know that Molly? And I'm really, really happy that you aren't dead."

A pause and a slightly tighter grip surrounded him. His eyes now felt unbearably heavy and he knew his weary body was giving way to exhaustion. But it wasn't till he felt the press of Molly's lips to his forehead that he relented. As he drifted off, Molly ran her fingers through his curls whispering as he held him, "I love you too Sherlock. And I'm really, really rather glad that you're alive, too."


End file.
